#not just the ones we WANT to identify with.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Mark ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Mark x f!idol!reader

summary: you and you boyfriend Mark are paired up for an interview, but do you even know you're texting each other? No.

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Mark got comfortable in the plush, pink chair of the Kode set with a shy smile, "Ah hello, I'm Mark from NCT." He pushes his earbuds into his ears and begins playing his music, "today I'll be known as Cheetah. Um, I couldn't really think of anything else and the fans already call me a cheetah so it was easy to think of."

On the opposite side of the wall, you settle into your own chair while smiling at the camera while introducing yourself, "I was so confused when I was asked to pick a wild cat as my screen name. It was such an oddly specific category, and even weirder when you told me cheetah was already taken. Anyway, I chose Tiger because they're the next prettiest."

Your music begins to play through your earbuds as your phone vibrates from the first message from your partner. "Yo?" you read in confusion, staring at your screen with pure confusion, "is that it? This is a man isn't it? Girls don't talk like this."

On the other side of the wall Mark laughs softly, covering his mouth as he reads the message. "This person is so happy. I've never seen anyone write hi with this many i's."

You and Mark text back and forth for a while, sharing your hobbies and sending memes back and forth until the both of your are giggling madly on your respective sides of the set. Of course, after nearly 2 years together you'd know how to make each other laugh, even without knowing you're texting each other. Your partner still doesn't give you any identifying traits or hints as to who they are. Well, besides clearly being a man based on how he texts.

Following the instruction of the staff, you send a screenshot of your home screen. You pout, feeling slightly bad for your partner. Just two days ago you'd gotten a new phone and hadn't yet had the time to make it yours. It was stuck with the boring default background and a handful of apps you considered to be essential. You explain as much with the text accompanying the screenshot.

And Mark's screenshot? Well, it might as well be just as boring as yours. He has the blur set on the photo so all you see is an indistinct mess of colors. Two distinct blobs which could be the shape of two people or two flowers or two guitars or two cats.

"Wow," you say as you typed out the word, "we are two very boring people. You really don't want me to know who you are."

Mark laughs out brightly while he reads your text, "me? You haven't even changed your own yet!"

"I told you I just got a new phone and haven't had time yet!" You laugh to yourself while typing out your message.

Your joking back and forth gets the two of you off track while you playfully poke fun at each other back and forth until the staff ask you both who you think you're texting. Mark looks at the camera while he tries to think, "I have no clue. It's a girl, surely but it could be anyone. Do you pick random people off the street to do these videos?"

On the other side of the wall, you blush softly, covering your face while your face cools down, "is it weird if I say it's my boyfriend? He just seems so much like Mark."

It's one of the few times you've ever referred to Mark as your boyfriend for any sort media. You and Mark had technically been a public couple for about a year now, since your respective companies had come out with their statements to reveal your relationship. How you'd been able to conceal a year of your relationship was beyond the both of you. Well, a lot of dark, oversized clothes and hats and masks to conceal your faces.

After the company statements, you and Mark seemed to be even better at hiding. You barely glanced at each other at award shows, and if you did, it was only friendly, nothing that could be interpreted as anything else. There were very few glimpses into your relationship beyond birthday and anniversary posts with obscured faces and sharing each other's most recent comebacks on your stories. Privacy was something you both valued and of course you were more than ok with doing any type of promotion with Mark, it just never worked out that way. Until now (not that you knew). Plus, it wasn't like this interview would give anyone any important details of your relationship anyway.

When the staff prompt you both to share a screenshot of your most recently listened to songs, you stare at your screen with a look of blank surprise, "this is just a mix of Drake and Justin Bieber. It's Mark, it has to be."

You zoom in on the picture, mumbling about how you see more music that is so distinctly Mark while on the other side Mark looks at the screenshot you send excitedly. "She's a fan! Of me! Wow, she's listened to Child and Golden Hour and 200! Ok, I have to chill out a bit," he tells himself even as he types out his message telling you that you have good music taste.

You snort at his message just as the staff laugh at the exchange at the same time. The head producer instructs you both to find your baby pictures to send to the other.

You look up from your phone, looking at the camera and the staff, "surely, you'd think a couple who have been together for this long have seen pictures of each other when they were kids, right?" The staff nods in response before you speak again, "well, we haven't! I've only seen what has been posted online. Same for him!"

Mark sends you a picture of him as a baby where he's a few months old and you coo immediately. You zoom in as close as you can drawing your phone closer to you face as you star adoringly at the baby on your screen. "He's the cutest little thing I've ever seen! I've never seen a cuter baby in my life! Oh, I just want to squeeze his cheeks and cuddle him," you gush over the adorable picture of the chubby baby boy with an adoring look on your face.

Mark looks at his phone, the camera, the staff, his phone again, the camera again with a look of pure and utter confusion as he looks at what he can only assume is a child covered in frosting. "You can barely tell this is a human, how is this supposed to help me figure out who I've been texting?" Mark asks, zooming in on the picture while the staff bursts out in laughter. When he finds out who he's talking to...

So when he staff ask for a final guess as to who you've been texting you say Mark's name confidently while Mark ultimately utters out, "Maybe someone from a girl group... maybe it's Yeri."

When the staff ask you both to stand and get ready to face each other to reveal yourselves. Instead of walking toward Mark, you find yourself behind the set so you're behind Mark.

Mark walks forward slowly, waiting to see when he'll spot his interview partner, but when he sees an empty spot, he faces the camera and the staff with a quizzical smile, "was I talking to a ghost?"

They laugh softly and murmur amongst themselves while you finally reach forward and tap his shoulder softly. Mark jumps, completely scared by the touch. He turns to you with his eyes wide with surprise, "you?!"

"Yes, me!"

After you're both seated at the high top table and calmed down from the surprise meeting with on another, you're both ready to talk to each other in front of the camera once again. You smile softly at your boyfriend, "I knew it was you."

Mark scoffs, "how?"

"Yo," you repeat the word from his first message with a poor imitation of his voice, "all the Drake, all the Bieber-- oh my gosh, Mark! Your baby picture!"

Mark laughs, taking your hand in his out of view of the camera, "speaking of baby pictures, what did you send me?"

Your brows furrow softly at his question, "I sent you a picture of me as a baby."

"There's no way that was you. You look like a little cake monster."

"It was from my first birthday..." you pout at Mark.

"Don't get pouty with me, you were completely covered, how could I have known? I can pout too! My face used to be your homescreen and now it's the plain default screen," Mark tells you with a playful pointed look.

"Mark," you deadpan, "you were with me when I got my new phone."

"Oh yeah..." Mark blushes with embarrassment.

"Anyway, who did you think I was?"

Mark squeezes your hand nervously beneath the table, his thumb rubbing at your knuckles a little anxiously, "I had no clue, to be honest. I knew you were a girl but I didn't know it was you."

When the staff ask Mark how he didn't know but you did, all he can do is blush and laugh out a nervous response. You turn to him with a playful accusatory look of your own, "yeah, how come you didn't know?"

"I don't really pay attention to how you text, just what we text about..."

You and the staff coo as you pinch his cheeks and cup his face lovingly, "you're so cute, but you were cuter as a baby."

"My mom says the same thing," Mark rolls his eyes.

Your conversation winds down and you both pose for the selfie at the end. You both pull silly faces, cheeks pressed together and eyes scrunched shut with your tongues sticking out.

Despite the stupid picture you both took, the screen fades to black with a completely different picture of you and Mark laughing while looking at each other with hearts in your eyes and bright smiles on your faces.

[magnificent-buckless-butt]

Wait. Seriously, hold on. This post is hunting me right now because I think I can finally put my fingers on why USA Christianity is weirding me out since the beginning.

As an European, it baffles me how much of the population identify as Christians while acting and saying things like they've never read the Bible in the first place. Except they did, in some extant, because they're the one that quote it so often (we don't do that here, we might refer to a specific part but don't really quote the Bible?). So why, why do they act as if they never read love your neighbor, give the other cheek, Father forgive them etc.?

Because they want to be warriors actually. They want a wrathful God. And there is God's anger in the Bible, there is the wrath of God that must appealed and you must always feel guilty and ask for forgiveness*. But comes Jesus and what he says is basically 'no more'. No more wrath, no more anger, no more warriors. But humans love raging war.

And we fucking did throughout the whole history of Christians actually. You start by saying you're a warrior of Christ, that your virtue is your sword, your faith is your shield and so one. It's nice: you're being a good believer AND you get to have this badass, very virilis imagery of the warrior. But! If you're lucky enough, you'll even have a real war against some "pagans" (really, you don't have to worry about the specifics) and then! Ouh boy, you get to be a real warrior. Everything is perfect.

Which brings us to: why are these people not changing faith/God? Pick another, more angry God/deity or simply go with a "personal faith away from human's restricting religion". Answer: because it's so fucking hard. I'm studying theology so hard and sometimes it happens that I find Catholicism restricting, too verbose or too specific. Except I can't just ditch "my" religion. (To be fair, I also really don't want to because I decided to fight from the heart of the Church but that's another subject. Oh, and notice how I used fight --even I can't refrain from the manly warrior)

Okay, so what do we do? Well I say, we piss them off. And we do so by celebrating the fucking amazingness that is God made human just to fucking die. Jesus never won by any human standards. He was the ultimate loser. And ain't that absolutely beautiful? And humbling? How can you hate the Mexican who takes your job if God tell you to wash his feet as if you're below him? How can you decide who deserves right if you God tell you that you should strip yourself for a random stranger? I say we fight back by being unapologetically happy that God died for us. Not guilty. Happy. It's so, so beautiful that They love us so much and only want us to replicate a fraction of Their love to everyone we encounter. That we have to make ourselves a bit uncomfortable so a stranger can be a whole lot comfortable. That we have to renounce privileges and luxury so all human beings can have the exact same things and opportunities. That it is shameful to try to be better than anyone else. That it is shameful to try to be successful on our own because we're supposed to uplift everyone else before ourselves. That it is shameful not to be empathetic, vulnerable, open about our weaknesses etc.

So anyway, thanks OP because now I'm even more filled with spite that will fuels my love so I can spite their hatred.

*okay side note since you're still here: this is why in the first centuries, there was a heretic branch of Christianity very adamant on separating the Old testament God to the new gospel God.

[buckysm]

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★part one, part two,

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ part one word count 6k+

ᯓ★a/n: junie’s first post— so please show some love— i hope you like!! my inbox is always open to chat!

ᯓ★ summary: you and bucky strike an unlikely friendship during sleepless nights, and shared cigarettes. when crisis strikes the team is surprises by your hidden bond (i wrote this bc of a little fantasy of being in a secret situationship with bucky and the team finding out when bucky goes feral after reader goes missing during a mission)

ᯓ★ warnings/ tags/ tropes for the whole series: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut,  Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication, Mentions of torture off screen (to be added and expanded as i post part two) NOT BETA READ

These are the hands of fate/ You're my Achilles heel/ This is the golden age of something good and right and real

It started with a cigarette.

It started when he had lent you a lighter. He did not smoke, and you didn’t ask him why he had one.  

For him, it started months before then.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Bucky was barely coping when you joined the team. His days muddled by an eternal haze of anger and frustration…His life had been stolen from him, along with his memories from before. He did not feel like he deserved redemption. He had done terrible things, had had terrible things done to him.

He found himself disassociating whenever he wasn’t on a mission. He did not feel real; he couldn’t joke around and feel good without betraying his past. Yet, his past was real, it happened. But Bucky couldn’t just move on, couldn’t just exist without the churning in his gut telling him he was dirty, he was dripping in sin, tarnished by the red in his ledger, filthy to the point of no return.

When he was told about you, his body turned taut with trepidation. Two sides of the same coin. You were injected with serum just like him. Made to do things and had things done to you just like him. And he had heard of you. They had called you serpiente, the serpent, the snake. You were deadly, never made a mistake. No one knew any identifying details about you, not even your gender. 

And it was his mistake, thinking you were a man. He yearned to be understood; maybe he would find companionship in you.

But then, you were not a man. The first time he beheld you, he had just finished a mission for Fury. Secret and dirty, he felt right at home doing SHIELD’s grunt work.

You were walking down the compound, side to side with Black Widow. He had assumed you were one of her brethren, maybe you had trained with her, a black widow yourself. Tony Stark pranced a few paces before you.

“Soldier, good you’re here! Come meet our newest recruit!”

Your smile was disarmingly bright. Pretty. He felt himself grow cold with fury. It was a smile that came easily to you. And your eyes, frustratingly  soft. You seemed at peace with yourself, and he hated that.  

He just stared at you in response. Eyes hard. Waiting for you to react to his lack of reciprocity. You didn’t bite his hook, just lightly pursed your lips and took his glare in stride. 

“Nice to meet you, Stark was telling me about you, all good things, don’t worry. But I had heard about you from before—you know—we do have in common h-”

“We have nothing in common.” He snarled before walking away, fuming. How dare you? How dare you make chit-chat about the thing that haunted his life. Every waking hour, every nightmare he was haunted by his past. And you wanted to…what? Talk about it over jokes? No. He decided you had nothing in common.

Maybe your body count was higher than his, and he chose to ignore the elephant in the room. The fact that you were a beautiful woman and that that could be a weapon as much as it could be a vulnerability.

He hated you a bit more each time he saw you get along with the rest of the team. How dare you? 

He had thought, had been so sure, that the reason he was disliked was because of his past. But that wasn’t it, was it? Because you and the black widow seemed to do just fine. Maybe he was just broken, and maybe you had been too, but you had fixed yourself just fine. Parallel wounds, yours had healed, while his had festered like a virus. How dare you?

His despise grew with each smile, each laugh, each time you were slapped on the back.

Everything came to a head when he found you on the balcony. He had thought it was his balcony. His.

It wasn’t a balcony, more of a ledge. A floor that had been destroyed during a hulk mishap, had not been fixed, and did not look like it would be anytime soon. 

The wind was strong. You stood at the edge, facing the precipice. You seemed so peaceful. 

He stared at your profile, illuminated by the city lights. Your expression was sad. He had never seen it like that. Your lips tight, eyes fluttered shut. Where you about to jump?

He walked toward you, deliberately moving his limbs so that you heard his footsteps.

You turned unhurriedly, your eyes opening slowly. There was a small moment where he saw you, your unguarded face. He was too involved in his stupor he had not considered the possibility of it all being a facade. But months had passed, and your mask hadn’t slipped. Until now.

It was only a fraction of a vulnerable moment before you schooled your features. And it angered him for some reason. Seeing you so easily slip into the practiced mask. It made him just like the rest of them, taking you at face value, not digging deeper past your pretty face, sparkling eyes, and gleaming smile. But then he was angry at both himself for not looking past and you for pretending. 

Before he could stop himself, before he could think, words were coming out of his mouth faster than he processed them. 

“Do not do that, don’t do that.”

You sighed, your mask falling to one of disdain. You looked disappointed in him, exasperated. It was a look of derision, he felt scorned, and yet it was better than the fake platitudes. 

“Do what? Now, what am I doing that deserves your anger?”

“Pretending,” Bucky grunted.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “So what am I supposed to do according to you, huh?” You walked away from the ledge toward him. He towered over you, head lowered to meet your defiant gaze. “Am I supposed to growl, frown, and hate myself for things I can’t control? Well, guess what, been there, done that! And, hey—guess again what happened. I hated it. So what if I am faking it? Maybe if I fake it hard enough, it’ll come true.”

“What’ll come true?” Bucky asked beside himself, snarling.

“Wanting to live, not letting them win. Because if I hate myself, then they win.” Your angry gaze wavered, turning sad. You looked away from him towards the city skyline. “I’ll go now, leave you alone to your self-hatred and whatever….” You started making your way to the battered elevator doors.

Bucky sighed, exasperated. “No, stay. I’m sorry.”

You had stopped walking away, your footsteps silent, but some sixth sense told him you had in fact paused.

He turned toward you. “I’m sorry.” He echoed.

You nodded, moving towards the ledge and sitting on it.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“Careful there, doll face.” His voice was gruff. “Don’t want you to fall off.”

You stiffened slightly, taken off guard, not for the first time tonight. The sweet nickname coupled with his harsh voice made heat rise to your cheeks. You decided to appear as if you took it in stride. Not wanting him to know just how much his words meant to you. Wanting to hear him call you that forever.

Because as much as you told yourself otherwise, it had hurt when he brushed you off. You had looked up to him. 

You didn’t have any memories of your past before the experiments or the training, so maybe it was different for him. He had a life that was taken away from him — and you were just now learning to have one.

You heard about him, heard him even.  Heard his screams sometimes. Your handlers wanted to teach you a lesson of what would happen when you didn’t behave.

It was clear he did not remember you. Why would he? When you passed each other in the hydra bases, he didn’t know who you were; that was part of your deal. No one expected a pretty girl to have a body count as high as yours. 

Bucky had killed about 20-something people, important ones. You knew that Natasha had a count of about six hundred and had shared the fact with you. Bucky had been Hydra’s tool, he was used in important missions only. While you…were a gun for hire basically. A knife for hire. You used your charms on men and women alike to disarm them enough. Your kills were always up close and personal. Sometimes you had to put yourself in compromised positions to do so. Bucky never had to. 

You knew that he had to be put under a lot, had to have his brainwashed again and again, and conditioned an inhumane amount of times. His brain rebelled, he had a life. Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he had memories or faint encodings of a life outside.

But you were awake all of the time. You did things because there was no other option. You had to survive. You didn’t know otherwise.

You pondered in silence. And when it became too much for you, you fumbled into one of the multiple pockets on your jacket for your cigarettes. You stiffened when you remembered you had left the lighter on your bedside counter. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong, doll.” His voice was curious, less rough. He was standing somewhere behind you. You could feel the weight of his stare.

You wanted to comment on the pet names— but you didn’t want him to stop, so you swallowed a snarky remark. “I forgot my lighter.”

He made his way toward you, movements swift as he sat next to you, feet dangling on the edge. You understood him now, didn’t want him to fall. 

He slid his hand onto the pockets of his cargo pants and came out with a lighter.

You smiled at him. His eyes never strayed from yours as he placed the lighter in your hand. 

His eyes were beautiful, darker than usual under the low light.

You tore away from his gaze. Placing a cigarette between your lips, you cupped the lighter and flicked it on.

You took a drag of the cigarette, enjoying the burn. Enjoying the strong scent, stronger than other cigarettes. It made your head light.

Banner had made them for you after you expressed sadness about not being able to enjoy any substances.

You heard a sniff. He had noticed it too.

You waited a second, leaving the smoke in your lungs, before exhaling. “It’s enhanced with something, Banner made it for me.”

He hummed. 

“You want one?” You looked at him from the corner of your eyes, not wanting to turn your face fully.

“Thanks for offering doll, but I don’t smoke.”

You hummed, taking another drag. “Not even before?” your question was tentative, you wanted to see if he would open up to you.

He hummed softly. “I did yes, once or twice. But Steve couldn’t handle the secondhand smoke, so I stopped. Little asthmatic punk…”

Silence stretched out as you enjoyed the lightheaded sensation. Your limbs loosened, and you felt free. 

“D’ya miss him?” You turned fully toward him.

His eyes never strayed from the skyline as he answered,“I do. It’s different, we’ve both changed a lot. You know how it is, losing the past.”

“I don’t know, not really…” your voice was soft and resigned. 

His eyes flashed to yours. You didn’t know what to do with the full weight of his stare. “What do you mean by that doll?” His brows were furrowed. 

You sighed, not wanting to get into it. “It’s late…” You took out your AVENGER-sanctioned phone to check the time, 2:15 A.M.

“I’m going to sleep.” You lied. And you couldn’t stop more words from tumbling out of your mouth. Clumsy and rushed. “Same time tomorrow?”

A ghost of a smile pulled slightly at the corner of his lips. “See you doll face. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams Jamie.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie….

He had been too quick to judge, and now he couldn’t get you out of his thoughts. His sleep was fitful, but he was granted a reprieve from his nightmares. Dreaming instead of the multitudes in your eyes. 

It was a slow day in the compound. He had a routine during slow days, he would go to his favorite training room and lose himself. The training room itself didn’t lack anything, but he had marked his territory with his glares at anyone who entered. He had achieved an unspoken ownership of that particular room.

After having you torment his dreams, however, he had to see you in person. He tried to contain himself, he started his routine in the training room. 

It lasted 42 minutes. 

No amount of dagger throws could get him to calm down. 

He found you on the tower’s common floor.

You hunched over a table, Banner at your side. Coming down was worth it.

“Well, good morning there Sarge, nice of you to come out of your room and join the land of the living.”

And he immediately regretted it.

“Stark!” Two voices proclaimed in tandem. You and Steve jumped to defend him, Steve’s voice was sharp, and yours was a playful whine.

“What? I’m just saying, he’s acting like a teenager!” Stark’s voice was a defensive grumble. He tinkered with the toaster in the kitchen area. 

“Oh as opposed to you, who behaves so maturely?” The tone of your voice was playful but had a hidden bite to it. Bucky couldn’t help but appreciate it.

You turned to smile at him, Steve turned to bicker with Tony. Bucky rolled his lips and moved to grab a mug, he poured himself a cup before walking away. 

He barely heard Stark’s remark on his parting, mentally berating himself for caring about the hurt look that soured your face when he did not return your smile. He shouldn’t care, caring was dangerous. It made him vulnerable and put him in a position where he could be easily hurt again.

He had to be careful, He did not want to break down the walls he had put up protecting himself and others from himself.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You almost didn’t show up. Hurt but not surprised by his attitude.

You paced the room you had on Natasha’s floor. She was not home, leaving you to pace away your conflicting thoughts.

Your heart had skipped a beat when he showed up. He never showed up, he was a ghostly presence in the compound. Part of the team, but never there for ‘team building exercises’…

It was 2:14 when you rushed to the elevator, a pounding of indecision in your chest. You told yourself it was curiosity. You needed to know more about him, needed to figure him out - maybe then you would be able to understand why he made you want…-

The silent elevator ride left you time to think

He is hurt, just projecting/ This could end badly/ This could end with a friendship/ He was an asshole/ He just needs a friend/ At the cost of your sanity?/

Two inner voices argued with each other in the back of your mind. You let them.

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open and there he was. The voices went quiet as soon as your eyes fell on him.

He leaned against a thick construction support post, overlooking the city skyline, his back to you.

“Nice of you to join me doll.”

DOLL?! Asshole, he dared to call you doll- yet acted coldly toward you in public?! You grunted angrily, mimicking his usual blasé attitude and walking to stand beside him, not looking at him.

A storm of anger raged inside you as you stared at the beautiful Manhattan skyline.

“Is everything alright doll?” His voice was softer, and you weren’t as angry anymore.

Yes he hadn’t smiled at you, but what exactly had made you expect that from him? Yes, he called you doll, but he was from the forties. Plus he hadn’t smiled at you before. And-what?  You had one conversation and suddenly you expected him to smile at you? You were delusional! This man was set in his ways, and maybe he was bored, but it meant nothing. He was bored and lonely, and you were overthinking everything. You were new at this, at socialization. Genuine socializing. You socialized a lot for your HYDRA days, but this was new. You were used to having the upper hand, being the one in control.

You sighed out your exasperation, letting your tense shoulders loosen.

“Mhm…” your eyes never strayed from the city.

You stood in comfortable silence. You were an expert at working yourself into a stupor. But honestly, you were about… twenty, twenty-one (you lost time during HYDRA). Yet you felt emotionally stunted- of course you did. You never had the chance to actually develop skills people your age did.

“This feels like a dream. Like I am hallucinating being free, and I will wake up from passing out due to torture and be back in my cell…” Words tumbled out of your mouth. You were also bored and lonely. Faking your way with the others made you exhausted.

He made no response, but you could tell he understood. And that was enough.  You fumbled for your cigarettes. He slid a lighter from his pocket, handing it to you wordlessly.

You took it from his hand, inhaling to light your smoke. 

“You know? it’s dumb… but I sometimes feel like screaming at them… like something deep inside of me yearns to scream and kick and throw whatever is around- to get out all my pent-up energy, maybe then I can pass out from exhaustion and sleep. And yea- the novelty of being free, and being in the fucking Avengers is slowly wearing off, and I just-” you sighed, you were talking and maybe he wasn’t even interested in hearing you whine. “And whatever, I should be grateful… it’s dumb…” You stopped yourself. Letting in the chilly New York air into your lungs. 

“No, doll, it’s not dumb.” He turned to look at you, forcing you face the full weight of his gaze. He was devastatingly beautiful. Your inhale was sharp. “Don’t feel bad about being angry, it’s valid feeling this way.”

You smiled then, “look at you, giving emotional advice. Who knew you were a big softy underneath that grouchy, grumbling exterior.”

He scoffed, but you could tell there was no real meaning behind it. Your smile grew.

His eyes lowered to your lips for a charged moment, before looking back to the city. “Those who can’t do, teach-”  His lips tugged slightly upwards, a glimpse of a smile.

You took a drag of your cigarette, staring unashamedly at his profile. “What do you do, when you are not brooding? Like what does one do for fun around here?”

“At two am in the afternoon doll, those who aren’t sleeping…” he trailed off, a soft pink brightening his cheeks

“Are what?” your grin was teasing.

“Are on a mission or something.” His voice came out slightly strangled. 

“Or something…” you murmured, a yawn escaping you.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, you really liked big band music? Kind of… classy for a guy who threw himself off buildings.”

 “Hey, a man can appreciate good music and bad decisions.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Stark’s fine, sometimes… but his ego’s bigger than his bank account.”

 “If I had his money, I’d buy a planet and avoid people altogether.” You sighed, 

 “Doll, you’d get bored in two days.”

 “True. I’d need at least one grump to frown at me” 

He couldn’t hide his soft grin.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Paris. You think it’s as romantic as everyone says?”

“Probably less if I was there...”

 “You’re right. You’d make it a lot more broody.”

“And you’d make it a lot more… sneaky. You’d blend into the shadows and pickpocket tourists.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I could live off this forever.” Your spoke around a mouthful of pizza

Bucky grimaced “Takeout pizza? You call that food?”

 “Says the man who probably ate spam for dinner in the ‘40s.”

“Now doll, it was a delicacy back then.”

 “Spam’s not a delicacy in any era, Barnes.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever thought about getting a pet? Like a dog or something?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow “Me, with a dog? Not sure I’d be a good influence.”

“Nah, they’d se through you.”

“I’m more of a cat person.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I like the quiet moments just before dawn. No one’s around to bother you.”

“Night’s better. Everyone’s already asleep. Feels like you’re the only one left.”

 “Until you realize there’s still someone like me lurking in the dark.”

 “Yeah, lucky me.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, any weird phobias? Mine’s spiders. Too many legs.”

Bucky shrugged “Needles. After Hydra? No thanks.”

You nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. But hey, at least you could crush a spider for me. And I can catch all your bulk when you pass out at the sight of a needle.”

“Ha, ha.” 

Someday, you’d get a real laugh out of him

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “If you weren’t a super soldier, what would you be doing?”

“Maybe a mechanic. Fixing cars, quiet life. You?”

 “Bartender. People tell you their secrets. It’s like espionage, but with cocktails.”

 “Sounds dangerous doll. What’s in the drink?”

You grinned “Depends on who’s asking.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“I keep getting these flashes… Steve dragging me to Coney Island, insisting I’d love it. Turns out, I hate roller coasters.”

You rolled your lips, deciding on what to say “I don’t have any memories before hydra, but I dream about falling. Maybe I would love roller coasters.”

“I’ll take your word for it, doll. I prefer solid ground now.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever feel like the idea of ‘freedom’ is just another way to trap us? Like, what do we even do with it?”

“I dunno. Still figuring that out. But it beats following orders like a puppet.”

“Yeah. I just wish freedom came with an instruction manual.”

“If it did, doll, I’d probably ignore it. I don’t need another piece of paper dictating my life..”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You were late, and Bucky was ready to leave when he heard the elevator doors open. You held a full white plastic bag.

“Honey, I’m home, and I brought dinner!” you had a slight spring in your step, he turned toward you, a smile of pleasure and relief made its way into his expression without his consent. Your steps faltered slightly, your brows furrowing for a moment before a beaming smile took over, your eyes twinkling.  It was real, not a sarcastic grin, a smile! Your response only made his smile more pronounced -slightly, but still-.

“It’s good that you don’t smile, if you did people would pass out on the spot.”

He couldn’t stop the small laugh making its way out of his mouth. “Not you?”

“Not me, I’m made of stronger stuff.” You sat next to him, a bit farther from the ledge than usual. 

He followed suit, crouching in front of you. He took note of the way you eyed his legs, of your inhale, of the way you had to force yourself to look away.

“I wonder what would make you pass out.” His mouth ran away from his brain.

“Maybe take me to a fancy restaurant then you can try and find out.”

The thought made his heart race, he stopped himself from thinking about it. You were joking, it was friendly— you weren’t serious.

“I could, we could go on a few dates, and you would end it when you realize I’m too old and bitter for you doll. Maybe it’s best we stay here at 2:15 am where I can lend you a light.”

Your face soured to a pout. “Well I like my men a little bit older. But if you are telling me I’m not your type and you like old ladies, well then I can handle rejection, not the worst thing I’ve lived through.” Your smile was sarcastic, yet he could tell there was hurt behind your eyes.

“No doll, I don’t think anyone could reject you even if they tried.” 

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Your heart raced at his words, caught off guard by their raw sincerity. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, not ones that felt real anyway. A flippant remark was on the tip of your tongue, ready to deflect the tension, but it got stuck.

“You ever think about it? You know… dating?”

He snorted softly, “Who would date me? I’ve got more shit to deal than anyone would want to deal with.”

You grinned “Hey, at least you’re mysterious. I’m more… ‘potential assassin.’”

 “Ah, the classic ‘will she kill me on the first date’ dilemma. I can hide the metal arm, but you can’t hide the serial killer smile.”

You laughed loudly, shoving him playfully.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

It was a few weeks after the initial meeting, and meeting had become a habit, a tradition of sorts. 

You gave him a shy smile when others were present, and he reciprocated with a soft look in his eyes. 

He knew he was being obvious with his staring, but he couldn’t help himself from looking at you.

He leaned on the counter, eyes flicking to and from you. He beheld as you smiled and laughed with the rest. He had a bit of jealousy that you weren’t bestowing the smile upon him, but he held non of the contempt from before.

He sensed an annoying presence beside him.

“Hey creep, why don’t you join us for drinks tonight? As luck would have it, even your star-spangled ass is joining us.”

Said star-spangled ass turned to glare at Tony, his expression turning into a smile as his eyes shifted toward Bucky.

“Yeah, come with us, you’ll have fun, we promise.” 

A myriad of yeahs chorused from the rest of the team, including you. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he looked at the ceiling. “Whatever.” He muttered.

“Well that wasn’t a no!” you grinned, acknowledging him.” Your smile so bright he couldn’t take it. 

He sighed, and grumbled incoherently before turning to hide his blush and walking away.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You smiled to yourself as he retreaded. 

Natasha bumped your shoulders together. “He stares at you so much, I have no clue if he hates you or wants you. Maybe both!” 

“Nat, don’t be rude, it’s probably because I’m new.”

She smirked, “Sure.” You hadn’t been new for a while.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

He was anxious. It took him forty minutes to place where the tight feeling in his chest was coming from. But it came down to you. It always came down to you as of late.

Steve had an arm around his shoulders, and he was blabbering on about how much fun these rare night outs were, where everyone was present.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t you talking to some guy. Enthusiastic hand gestures and a dazzling smile on your face as some random guy looked at you with an entranced smile.

He felt bile rising in his throat. 

He wanted to turn around and walk away, but that would have been too obvious. So he walked in with his stomach dropping with anguish.

He was out of it, sipping a drink that Steve had handed him. His tastebuds not even processing the taste of his drink.

“Yo! Joe Goldberg, knock it out with the serial killer stare.” 

He felt a smack on his shoulder. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from you.

���What are you talking about?” he grumbled. Smooth. Real smooth.

Even though she was shorter than him, Natasha towered over Bucky. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to check it. It’s getting really weird.”

He felt a hand fist in his heart, tight. He downed the drink and sighed. Think Bucky. Think. “It’s not like that.” He was quiet for a few moments, formulating a response.

“Well then explain, why you keep staring at her like you want to strangle her.”

“I don’t want to— fuck.” He placed the empty glass on the table. “She’s also from Hydra.” He stated.

“Yeah, duh.” Natasha looked at him with contempt.

He needed to fix the fact that she thought he was some sort of obsessed weirdo…. He wasn’t!

“She’s so, normal, happy. And she…” he trailed off. 

Natasha’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looked to Steve, who tried to seem like he wasn’t listening to the conversation.

“Bucky, you’re-” Natasha placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to get another drink.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You could tell something was wrong when you stepped out of the elevator. He was quiet, not the usual kind, brooding. You acted like you always did, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Bucky, is everything alright?” your voice was soft.

His reply was an irritated huff. You waited for a few moments, letting him have his space.

The night was cold, you had worn thick cotton clothing. He wore a hoodie and pants, they looked comfortable, but the man in them did not.

You hummed, and moved closer toward him, he leaned on a pillar,

“Big mission tomorrow huh?” You shifted tactics. It wasn’t odd for him to have a quiet night, where you just sat in companionable silence. This was different though… he was angry about something. Some insecure part of you told you he was mad at you. But there wasn’t any foundation to that, was there? 

He grunted in response. He was making you anxious. You sighed loudly, deciding on either having a smoke or going to bed. The stilted silence making you anxious, a pressure hard on your chest. You tried to exhale it out, but it wouldn’t budge.

You let him wallow next to you for a few minutes before giving up and turning to face him. You placed a soft hand on his forearm, about to say goodnight. He flinched harshly and your heart twisted. He grimaced, eyes shifting to you before flitting away. 

“Bucky, if you need, I-” your voice had a nervous tinge to it, and you hated it. You were glad when he interrupted you.

“Go to sleep doll.” His voice was sad, his face resigned. 

You furrowed your brows, studying his expression. You had the urge to kiss him on the cheek for good luck but knew that you would break if he flinched away.

“Goodnight Jamie…”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You walked away, turning your head twice to smile at him sadly. He held your gaze as the elevator doors closed, removing you from his field of vision. Taking you away from him. 

“Fuck.” His voice was soft and defeated. He looked at the city skyline. His eyes glossing over. He wanted to get the self-hatred out, to hit the wall, break his knuckles, and kick at the litter on the floor. But he let it sit, let it fester in his chest. A leech that grew bigger as it fed on the churning,  loathsome thoughts overwhelming his brain.

He crumpled with the ease of a paper, falling to the ground,

His limbs splayed as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t take it. Any of it. He always told himself he was strong. He was The Winter Soldier, for fuck’s sake! And here he was, crying over a girl. But that wasn’t it. Or it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that he was too soft for all of it. And he was still somewhat human at the end of the day. He still had emotions, and he was starved for comfort. He lacked connection. And he was okay without it, had gone so so long without, he had grown used to the lack. But then you had come into his sanctuary and ruined everything, and he let you. He felt a kinship with you. You had gone through hell and back, had walked the same road as him, and you smiled so big, your eyes twinkled so bright. He couldn’t help but fall into your orbit. Admiring you from afar. 

Maybe it was better when he hated you, it was something he was used to, it was comfortable. He did not know what to do with all these feelings, hadn’t felt them before, not even in the 40’s. He was happy then, it was normal for him to smile. He didn’t know to appreciate it. Yes, there was war, but there was hope, and there was also Captain America there to save him, but then Steve wasn’t there anymore. And any sliver of hope was quickly crushed under gleaming leather Hydra boots. He was going to die someday on a Hydra mission, he had made his peace with that. But Steve did save him, a little too late. He wasn’t Bucky anymore and did not feel like he had any right to the mantle of Captain America’s best friend. And some parts of him did want that still, but all of him yearned to be your Jamie.

And now bitter and traumatized, he held a flower in his calloused hands, and he didn’t know if he was worthy of it. He couldn’t breathe.

He was going to die here, and he couldn’t go in peace because he wanted to see you one more time. He couldn’t stand up, he couldn’t move, He keened in pain like a puppy. 

Pathetic, get up. Voices from Hydra spewed venom, wracking through his psyche. He clenched his jaw and groaned from deep in his throat.

Broken…unworthy…killer…tainted…

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The mission was successful. The team had divided in two, his group had finished earlier.

He felt better, exhausted. It had been a long mission, he was covered in grime and blood. 

It was rare for him to get to the point of exhaustion, but he had dived head first into hand-to-hand combat, not letting up, ignoring black widow’s knowing looks. 

Freshly showered and changed into sweats, Bucky let himself fall face-first into his too-soft bed. Days of restless sleep coupled with today’s exertion weighed his body down, and pulled his mind into sweet sweet oblivion.

He woke with a start, looked at the clock, and sat up. 3:22 A.M. 

He had stood you up. He rushed to the elevator and up to the floor. His thoughts raced with self criticism and hatred. He breathed out a frustrated sigh, you weren’t there.

Of course you weren’t there, he had been over an hour late.

He grumbled to himself all the way down to the common floor. His footsteps skidded to a stop when he found all the lights on and a flurry of activity.

Hawkeye typing furiously into a computer, Black Widow pacing the floor on the floor, her hands fiddling with some tech stuff. Steve was curled over a tablet, his hands clenched around the edge of a countertop.

Bucky stopped. The other team hadn’t come back.

“What’s wrong… where is she?” His chest felt tight.

Steve motioned at him to come near while the other two ignored him.

“Look, Bucky, I know you have some fondness for her, but I need you to calm down. She’s — uh— she’s missing…”

His ears started ringing; he didn’t hear anything after that. He took deep breaths, running his hands through his hair. It was longer, he needed a hair cut, maybe you could cut his hair. Yeah, that sounded nice. 

He stilled. Breathing in deep, “give me the details, I’ll have her back with me within the hour.”

He didn’t recognize his voice. Black Widow and Hawkeye had turned their heads to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Bucky, calm down, she’s alive from what we can tell, we can’t deal with y- we have to focus on finding her right now.”

“I am focused. I will find her.” His voice, it was gruffer, the language wasn’t english. He was reverting back…

Iron Man decided it was the best moment to walk in.

Bucky, The Winter Soldier turned around with intent. He had some inkling of what he must have  looked like, a menace— because as Iron Man was opening his mouth to make some snarky remark, his jaw clenching shut, hands rising in surrender. 

“Где она, где моя кукла?” Where is she, where is my doll?. 

His voice had a deadly cadence, he spoke and meant death.

“She’s okay, Wanda has her.” Black Widow had placed the radio on a table. She walked toward The Soldier slowly.

Wanda, the deadly witch saved from Sokovia. He remembered her. She was strong. Not strong enough. 

He leveled his eyes on her. “скажи мне где, или ты умрешь.” tell me where, or die.

Her eyes grew hard “Calm down soldier, there is no need to threaten anyone.” 

The tension was palpable then, rising… rising-

The Doors opened to you limping… being supported by the witch and the doctor. 

His shoulders slumped. He shifted toward you, but something blocked his path,  he looked down to see Steve’s arm pushing against his chest. The enemies’s stance were on the offence, about to attack, keep her from him. He was about to threaten his best friend  The Captain to move when-

“Jamie…”  

His gaze flashed toward to you. You pushed away from them, limping— stumbling toward him.

He met no resistance this time as he rushed softly toward you.

Your knees buckled as he wrapped his arms around you. You collapsed against him. 

You sobbed softly- and he broke. His arms strong and soft as he held you close.

He didn’t care about anything, he didn’t care how the scene looked, he didn’t care that they all knew for certain now. He loved you.

He just needed to know you were okay.

He held you as you shook, “I thought, I was back there Jamie, I- thought I wasn’t going to- to see you again. I thought, he would get lonely, and- and- I was going to miss you- they- they- I didn’t care about any of it. I just thought about you….” You sobbed, trying to get words out. “I got out- I killed them all, I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face not- I killed…” For you. 

“kukla…” Doll.“you’re here, you’re ok, let’s get you to the infirmary. You are hurt, and bleeding…”

His voice was so, so soft —dense with remnants of russian. His arms holding you together.

He ignored it all, ignored the dropped jaws and furrowed brows, you came first. He had shown you as his vulnerability, but he first had to be sure his Achilles heel would be okay.

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments, and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading be back with part two soon!!!!

[transfemme-shelterdog]

i can't send this from my queer blog, but this is genderqueerdykes and i just wanted to say thank you for running this blog. i'm intersex, and i'm a trans man and a trans woman. people love to invalidate whichever gender of mine they please depending on the context. i've had people start misgendering me, treating me with transmisogyny and denying that i'm a "real trans woman" because i stand up for trans men and mascs, and am partly one. people seem to want to completely ignore that i'm intersex for the sake of saying i'm "lying about being transfem" as some type of lame "gotcha". that is intersexism and transmisogyny whether or not they see it that way

people don't want to own up to their own internalized transmisogyny. i have no idea why it offends people that intersex people exist and that we have a complex relationship with gender, but people are not only gladly showing their transmisogyny and transandrophobia on their sleeves, but now their intersexism, too. if people on here disagree with me, they get to deny my gender and say that i'm now magically not transfem or a trans woman despite my intersex variations leading me to live a very real, very transfeminine life

i was assigned male at birth and then had "corrective" procedures done to change my body to be more female, including Estrogen and progesterone HRT in my teens. i've been denied womanhood and femininity my entire life because i'm "too masculine" and look "too much like a man" even before i started T HRT. i wasn't allowed to be a girl as a child or teenager, let alone as an adult. people who were literally assigned male at birth aren't allowed to be transfeminine or trans women anymore. that's how wrapped up in discourse that makes no sense we've become. thank you for doing what you do, and i hope people don't fucking misgender you just because you stand up for trans men.

i hope you have a fantastic week, actually, make that life, and take care of yourself. thanks for being here for trans men and mascs. thanks for being yourself. also fellow nonhuman here, i'm also a canine, you rock!

Oh hey, Equinox, huge fan of your GenderQueerDykes blog, been following it for a while now, I also very much appreciate the work you do on that blog.

Yeah, I don't know why people are such assholes about the situation. The concept that one's internal workings and how they present themselves/their external appearance sometimes don't line up and it can lead to weird gender fuckery is lost on a lot of trans women, for some reason. Like, you'd like that the community that talks so much about passing and "boymoding" would be more understanding that gender and sex are convoluted and messy. Same with intersex people, sometimes their relationship with sex and gender is weird, and that's ok.

I totally support you, and however you choose to identify/present yourself. The way I see it, is that gender is a personal thing, and trying to correct people on what is and isn't "true gender" is ass-backwards and regressive. That goes for everyone, whether intersex or perisex, your gender is yours and yours alone.

I just wish that people, especially trans women, would be more accepting of people who have complex and "problematic" genders, and would cut the transandrophobia and transmisogyny.

I'll always be here for you, and anyone else who needs a feisty trans bitch in their corner. I hope you also have a wonderful life, and keep being yourself sweetheart.

[mysteroads]

A lot of Greek Mythology is Fanfiction... but not GOOD Fanfiction 😑

Since I've been obsessed about Epic the Musical, I did some poking around the actual mythology around The Iliad and The Odyssey, and... Ye Gods and Little Fishes 🙄. There doth madness live.

I'm specifically irritated about the "children of Odysseus/Circe/Calypso." Because-- while I'm not a scholar-- none of these kids are mentioned in The Odyssey, sooooo... I'm pretty dang sure that all of Ody's theoretical kids fall under three broad categories:

Someone wanted their city's/civilization's founder to have a famous, easily identified progenitor! (Agrius, Anteias, Ardeas, Rhomos)

Later authors wanted to name-drop Odysseus as the father for their OCs. (Cassiphone,Nausinous, Nausithous, Latinus)

Give Odysseus the King Arthur/Oedipus treatment (why, just why?), since Homer unfortunately left things in Ithaca kind of open-ended and vulnerable to bad fanfiction.

Why does this irritate me so? (Other than messing with my rare 'Greek myth happy endings?!') Because, while ~death of the author~ is a thing, in Book 16, Telemachus tells us that Zeus cursed Odysseus's family to have only one son a generation.

"Zeus made our line a line of only sons. Arcesius had only one son, Laertes, and Laertes had only one son, Odysseus, and I am Odysseus’s only son."1

And, I mean, can you blame Zeus for that? 😅 We only need one Odysseus.

Art by Wolfythewitch

1 Fagles, Robert, and Bernard Knox. The Odyssey. Penguin Publishing Group, 1997.

[plotholes-and-spellingerrors]

I'm going to go a step further:

YOU NEED TO STOP SAYING "AI"

"AI" is a marketing term

"AI" is meaningless

Here's the press release:

It uses the term "artificial intelligence" once, probably for SEO purposes, and after that it uses the real words for what the researchers used:

John Hopfield invented a[n artificial neural] network that uses a method for saving and recreating patterns. We can imagine the nodes as pixels. The Hopfield network utilises physics that describes a material’s characteristics due to its atomic spin – a property that makes each atom a tiny magnet. The network as a whole is described in a manner equivalent to the energy in the spin system found in physics, and is trained by finding values for the connections between the nodes so that the saved images have low energy. When the Hopfield network is fed a distorted or incomplete image, it methodically works through the nodes and updates their values so the network’s energy falls. The network thus works stepwise to find the saved image that is most like the imperfect one it was fed with.

An artifical neural network is a specific thing:

Geoffrey Hinton used the Hopfield network as the foundation for a new network that uses a different method: the Boltzmann machine. This can learn to recognise characteristic elements in a given type of data. Hinton used tools from statistical physics, the science of systems built from many similar components. The machine is trained by feeding it examples that are very likely to arise when the machine is run. The Boltzmann machine can be used to classify images or create new examples of the type of pattern on which it was trained. Hinton has built upon this work, helping initiate the current explosive development of machine learning.

A Boltzman machine is a specific thing:

When we talk about machine learning, that is a specific thing:

The famous "pastry identifier that can also detect cancer" was the product of years of careful, laborious adjustments and combinations of dozens of different image analysis algorithms.

I argue that we shouldn't call these things "AI" because, again, the term "AI" is meaningless. It can be applied to any sophisticated automated system that reduces human effort. Every time we call these useful tools "AI" we let the "generative AI" people dictate our language to us. And they want the obfuscation because to most people "AI" (ChatGPT) and "AI" (a neural network designed specifically to recognize certain patterns in very specific physics instrument outputs) are both just "AI" (magical computer thing that I don't understand). So we say "some types of AI can be useful!" what most people take away is "AI" can be useful. And the AI tech bros can rely on that perception to say "you need to let us scrape everyone's creative data to build our chatbot because it will invent new ways to solve the climate crisis" which it absolutely CANNOT DO.

Don't do these motherfuckers' work for them. Call things what they are.

(Source)

[glowettee]

how to recover from chronic procrastination (not just time management tips)

by mindy @glowettee

i wanted to talk about healing your relationship with time and tasks when you're stuck in a deep procrastination cycle. i've been in this cycle for a month now, and just recently got out of it using all of these methods. please just remember to be gentle to yourself, and take small steps.

understanding your procrastination:

identifying emotional triggers: notice what feelings come up right before you avoid tasks. is it fear? overwhelm? sometimes it's as subtle as a tiny flutter of anxiety

recognizing avoidance patterns: maybe you always clean your room when essays are due, or suddenly need to reorganize your pinterest boards before studying

spotting perfectionism links: notice when you're not starting because you're afraid it won't be perfect. this often shows up as "i'll start when i feel more prepared"

understanding fear responses: your body might feel heavy, or you might get suddenly sleepy when facing certain tasks. these are actually fear responses in disguise

mapping procrastination cycles: track how one avoided task creates a domino effect of more procrastination. it's usually a sweet little pattern we can gently break

emotional recovery steps:

healing task-related anxiety: create tiny, sweet rituals that make tasks feel safe. maybe light a candle before starting or use your prettiest pen

building self-trust again: start with promises so small they feel silly. like "i'll work for just two minutes" and actually stop after two minutes

developing completion confidence: collect evidence of times you've finished things, even tiny things like making your bed or sending a text

managing overwhelm spirals: catch yourself before the "i have so much to do" spiral starts. write everything down in your prettiest handwriting

creating safety in starting: make beginning feel cozy. wrap yourself in a soft blanket, make tea, create a gentle environment for work

rebuilding work capacity:

micro-task training: start with tasks so tiny they feel almost meaningless. maybe just open your laptop or take out one book

starting-point exercises: practice just beginning things without the pressure to finish. it's like dipping your toes in a pool

momentum building: string tiny tasks together like beads on a necklace. each small completion leads to another

success spirals: document every tiny win in a pretty journal. watching the pages fill creates its own kind of motivation

confidence restoration: celebrate completing even the smallest tasks. treat each one like a tiny victory worth noting

practical healing methods:

task relationship repair: make peace with tasks that scare you. talk to them like old friends you're getting to know again

emotional safety nets: create comfort zones within your work space. maybe a special corner with fairy lights and soft pillows

anxiety soothing techniques: develop gentle ways to calm your nervous system. perhaps counting flower petals or tracing patterns

overwhelm prevention: break everything down into pieces so small they feel almost silly. like "open notebook" as a complete task

progress preservation: keep a soft, gentle record of all your tiny steps forward. no progress is too small to celebrate

creating new patterns:

gentle accountability: find ways to be accountable that don't feel punishing. maybe share your tiny goals with a friend

achievement recognition: notice and celebrate every small completion, even just getting out your materials

progress celebration: create sweet little rewards for progress. maybe a favorite song or a moment with your comfort book

pattern interruption: catch old patterns with gentleness. "oh, there's my pinterest avoidance. how sweet of me to try to protect myself"

identity rebuilding: slowly start seeing yourself as someone who can start and finish things, one tiny step at a time

maintaining recovery:

preventing relapse: notice early warning signs with kindness. catch yourself before the avoidance cycle starts

managing setbacks: treat setbacks like gentle reminders to return to your healing practices

building resilience: each time you start again, you're building stronger foundations

sustaining progress: keep your momentum gentle and sustainable

adapting strategies: adjust your approaches with tenderness as you learn what works best for you

remember: recovering from chronic procrastination is about healing, not just forcing yourself to work.

tip: small wins create the foundation for bigger changes 🤍

p.s. you're not lazy, you're healing from task trauma.

[moonshinesonic-moonstarslight]

More Little Villains!

MQF: So Shen-shixiong and Shang-shixiong ran into a pile of plants. Two of which you have identified as Parents Longing Blossom and Baren Soul Lotus, correct?

SQQ agrees while SQH is staring up at the ceiling dead eyed, two slumbering children tucked against him. (The trip back to the sect was... A thing SQH doesn't want to recall right now. The kids are definitely some versions of the ogs, though. Of that he's sure on now.)

MQF: *hums before directing SQQ over to be examined first, fully aware that getting the other three will take some time so first handle the one not buried* Did either of you recall any reactions or symptoms of any sort?

SQQ: *remembers falling onto SQH and feeling something in his gut at the fact his friend was under him groaning and whining softly, then the tingly feeling going down his neck and through his spine and arms, before seeing the growing red and black marks appearing on Airplane's neck and pulling the man out of the plants only to notice that he had the same marks on his arms* /gives description of events while not admitting to having a similar feeling in his gut only days ago when he ended up falling on top of SQH while they were goofing around/

MQF: I see. And were there any further reactions after you both got out? *Checks arms and gently prods spirit veins to check on the WOC)

SQQ: *winces at the memory of SQH coughing up green and blue goop, leaking black from his eyes, and the screams of pain and terror as the man clawed at his neck, arms, and his thighs. And the agony of white and green goo coming out of his own arms* Yes ../goes into extreme detail because he knows Airplane won't and he is rightfully worried about his friend/

Shen Jiu: *just woke up and is listening, bleary-eyed and tired he pokes Shang Si awake (SQH fell into a doze, he's so tired) and gets him to listen in as well*

Shang Si: *grumpy at being woken up, listens to SQQ describing the what is basically their rebirth into this world, rolls his eyes and curls back onto Mama's chest*

Shen Jiu: *scowls, turns his attention to Mu-shidi talking with the strange entity in his old body, is not happy with this but Shang-shidi has a plan, now if only the brat was awake to help him put it into action*

SQH: *unconsciously pulls children closer*

Shen Jiu: *still in the body of a 13month old, is starting to feel hungry, has been harassing Shang-shidi's cosmic entity the whole time back to the sect and isn't going to stop now, especially when the reactions are well worth the humiliation he suffers* Mama. *Pulls at robes* Mama, milk.

SQH: *dragged from his doze, and is so very tired of this insistence for milk he doesn't have* A-Jiu.. Mama doesn't have milk. Shidi could you please send a disciple for some? I fear of being assaulted and sucked on for non-existent milk here.

SQQ: *quietly* They have tried already at least once per child. Thankfully they are old enough for soft food so we had fed them, even though they were insistent on trying to breastfeed.

MQF: *wants to laugh, very much not laughing because he's a professional and Shang-shixiong's scary when tired and just done with the world* Of course. Shang-shixiong, do you have a wrist I can see?

SQH: *shuffling kids, tries to hand one over to SQQ* Bro. Shixiong. Tears or no tears, please.

SQQ: *takes Shen Jiu, because while he is willing to help he is not dealing with a screaming Shang Si, who'll not be happy with waking up away from Mama, if he can help it* A-Jiu, you'll be good and let Mu-shidi look over Mama without a fuss, right?

Shen Jiu: *hungry, not pleased with being in the arms of a man even if it's his old body, knows Mu-shidi has dealt with worse than screaming children, promptly starts grumbling and fussing*

SQQ: *knowing where this is going and one crying kid is better than both so he's making his way to the door* We're going to be just outside if you need us shidi.

MQF: *back from sending a disciple for milk and a few other things* Certainly, shixiong.

SQH: *exhausted and wants this over with* Not moving Xiao Si unless you want a second screaming child.

MQF: That's fine Shixiong. *Pokes and prods around sleeping baby* So, A-Jiu and Xiao Si?

SQH: *fully aware of the layers to that question* They respond to our given names and nothing else really. But calling someone Xiao Jiu feels weird when "Xiao Jiu" is standing next to me. And I don't know how to feel about someone calling a child who looks like but isn't me "A-Si".

MQF: Understandable. Now, tell me what happened. *Fully aware of he going to have to pull answers out, given that the man is exhausted and an exhausted SQH is a petty petty man*

SQH: *grumbles but starts talking*

{To be continued ~(^-^)~}

[comradical]

If you’re a woman who has sex with a male, you are not a lesbian. I’ve witnessed transwomen have tantrums about it.

Most trans teens are being nonbinary or trans because it’s trending. When people wanted to be different a decade they were punk or goth or something. Now they’re “queer”

men can’t be lesbians

Women often identify as men or nonbinary because they think they’re special or not women because they have human thoughts and emotions. Literally just talk to any nonbinary woman.

No, being trans is about switching gender roles. You’re not breaking anything by saying you’re a woman because you like painting your nails and having long hair. You’re a woman because you’re female. It’s very easy. The concept of gender is misogynistic trash that your community put lipstick and glitter on and pretend that it’s not the exact same thing by “spicy”

LGB is only focused on trans people right now because you guys won’t stop throwing tantrums about us. Leave us alone do we can do actual activism. You’re not stopping straight people from killing us. You’re the ones hiding behind us for protection

I’ve talked to many trans people. I used to identify as male because of the desire to escape femininity. I used to have almost all trans friends, and I can see it for what it is.

Acknowledging reality is not hateful. I’m sorry you don’t have an actual argument other than throwing buzzwords at me. You’ll grow up one day and realize how cringe this whole thing is.

By cutting out the TQ+, you also cut out:

-Intersex people

-Two-spirit gays and other culturally connected gays

-Gender nonconforming people

-Those who are questioning their sexuality

-Gays, lesbians, and bi's who are supportive of trans people

-Millions of kind, loving, supportive humans who have gone through indescribable, traumatic abuse and wish to build a safe, welcoming community

Why are you so eager to exclude and belittle people? Why do you tell them they 'don't know what real struggle looks like' when their healthcare, their future, and their lives are under attack? Do you truly value 'love', or do you just want to swat away as many people as possible? Why do you continue to hide under a rock and dig yourself deeper into festering hatred, when you can simply come out and support people who can help you?

Wouldn't it be easier to unite with our trans and nonbinary friends to help defeat the growing threat of genuine fascism in our country? Those conservative Christian nationalists and white supremacists who tell you you're "one of the good ones" would gladly turn around and shoot you in a heartbeat, because when they say they're fighting the 'woke gender ideology', they'll mutter in the same breath that you gays are 'degenerates', 'sodomites', and 'animals'. Why would you side with the villains, who see you the same way they see us?

We cannot let oppression continue in any form. We will all be on the winning side of history as we step closer to ending the cycle of hatred and bullying. Open your hearts and minds and you'll find that the everyone around you is just as human as you, and are more similar to you than you'd think. Trans people are people, just like you, and we need your help and support just as much as you need ours.

Isn't it neat how people who are supportive of all LGBTQ+ identities are also kinder, more loving, more empathetic, and more caring towards their friends and loved ones? Just something to think about.

Love wins. Trans rights are human rights.

[squish--squash]

on the topic of this post I made I also wanna talk about how nii satoru utilizes giving us, the readers, characters' backgrounds as a whole.

So far the characters we've seen flashbacks of/gotten backstories of have been Umemiya, Choji and Togame, Tsubaki, Hiragi and Sako and Kaji, Endo and Takishii, suzuri, and Sugishita (give or take a few more characters).

This might seem like a lot of characters, but the thing is, we're always given these flashbacks and backstories because we need them, or because they parallel to Sakura in one way or another.

Us getting Umemiya's backstory gives us a very big opening into learning WHY he is the way he is and why he does everything the way he does. It reveals to us why he focuses so much on eating with people and gardening, when it wasn't something we might've been wondering in the first place. As such a monumental guide and positive role model for Sakura, learning about Umemiya's past and how those key moments have effected him today allows us to realize just how much growing up Sakura still needs; while Umemiya's seemed to have completed his own journey in a way, Sakura is still leaps and bounds away from completing his own.

Choji and Togame and their history together with Shishitoren gives us more perspectives. With Togame, it gives us reasoning behind why he'd been choosing to act the way he'd been when we first met him, and creates depth by having us learn that he's not just some crazy evil guy who wants to stomp on people just for fun, he's been in agony for years. With Choji, it gives us another perspective on what it might look like for someone to find their way to the top with no further purpose, which is what Sakura's original goal was. He didn't want to be at the top so he could be a leader, he wanted at the top to prove himself and nothing more. With no further goal in mind, he could easily fall into a similar path as what Choji was walking down before the duel with Umemiya.

Tsubaki gives us hindsight and details on his own past and why he's so loyal to Furin and Umemiya, and why he is the way he is, which is important due to the themes surrounding his character involving self-acceptance and identifying with something outside of the norm. Both of those things are important to Sakura, with his unique looks and his overarching story revolving around the acceptance of others and himself. It was a backstory he, as well as us, needed to hear.

Suzuri's story rings similar to Sakura: both had upbrings that scarred them and let them down (as it's implied a LOT that Sakura's own past hasn't been nice to him in the slightest, and has given him below the bare minimum), but while Sakura ultimately chose to join Makochi, and later Furin, Suzuri did not have that grace of choice and instead could only choose what he could, which was leading his own gang through desperate measures. Like Choji, Suzuri's story can be real as a possible parallel to what Sakura could have been, but it also shows as a way to humanize Suzuri, who up until that point we saw as nothing but a mindless enemy.

Kaji's backstory and his mentorship to Sakura is important to us too, because we learn how far Kaji has come himself with the guidance of Hiragi that he uses to then help guide Sakura. It establishes a connection and bond between more of the Wind Breaker characters that makes them feel more fleshed-out and three-dimensional, and gives more depth to the world they live in.

etc etc... I'd add more but this post is getting too long. The point is, we're getting the backstories to our supporting cast and enemies because they build an increased depth to the overall story or increase our perspectives on characters that would otherwise remain flat or just simple. And we only get it when it matters, such as keep moments in the middle of an arc, or at the beginning to help. nii satoru isn't just throwing out information to us all willy-nilly, there's thought and care behind all of this.

This all comes to a head with the question, "why haven't we gotten a certain someone's backstory yet?" and that answer is very, sweetly simple. Because we don't need it. Because Wind Breaker is about him. We're getting backstories of other characters because Wind Breaker ISN'T ABOUT THEM, not as its core. We need backstories from other characters as a way to learn about them and their reasonings/motivations so we have complex and well-rounded characters, but without them needing a novel each, so we get stories that they relay or flashbacks to give us that information without taking a hit to the flow of the plot.

Plus, the series is ongoing. Who's to say we won't get an arc down the line that'll reveal a certain someone's backstory in a very important, key moment that'll make the entire wait worth it?

[aayakashii]

Biting is definitely one of Taiga’s love languages, and it’s his way of dealing with cuteness aggression. There are a few videos or pictures on his phone that he CANNOT watch on his phone, because it is constantly like he is seeing them for the first time and he falls into such cuteness aggression that he hunts you down and just starts nibbling at you no matter where you are. The more he remembers you, the better he is at keeping his bites gentle (because he actually remembers you asking him to as well as how your sad face made his chest ache for some reason).

The pictures/videos/things that give him the biggest cuteness aggression:

- when he is reminded of the gifts you gave him (IE: the tiger keychain, the notebook idea we shared, etc) and he can see the little handmade details for something made specifically for him

- a picture of you posing like a tiger with the little claw hands and everything, and you drew little ears and whiskers onto the photo and it’s captioned “kitten trying to be like her Taiga”

- you fell asleep trying to clean his gun so you’re just kinda cuddled up to it in the picture with a sleepy pout on your face and his heart can’t handle it

- a video of you rolling your eyes behind Romeo’s back as he lectures you on something, he just finds your aggression and bravery so cute

- there’s a video where you’re just chilling and then turn to spot Taiga behind the camera, and instead of your face falling, it lights up and you just say “Taiga!” Excitedly and Taiga is filled with so much joy because someone wants him around for the first time????

- someone took a video of you calming Taiga down, and your so soft about it, cautious but not scared and you hold his bloody face in jt and just say “oh my precious Taiga”. His heart melts and he doesn’t know what to do with all the love that he can barely identify so he resolves to just hunt you down and feel you beneath his teeth as a sign that you are there and his

👻

GHOST ANON HELLO WELCOME BACK I MISSED YOU ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

AND THESE SCENARIOS ARE SO CUTE PLEASEEKDJFJSKJFNSBCJSJSJ I can imagine Taiga full-on sprinting to find mc when the cuteness aggression hits because he GOTTA bite and the beef jerky he snacks on simply arent as soft as mc 😔 he deserves someone super soft and sweet with him....... I genuinely believe he would melt unders them ;-; (also the protectiveness would go wilddddd)

[mumms-the-word]

sigh okay lemme say this again in shorter words so that I can make myself clear to the anons who keep misinterpreting my words

I think using AI to write fics is gross (and uninspired, like babes I promise the ideas in your heads are so much cooler)

I also think accusing people of using AI based on writing style is gross (em dashes? purple prose? repetition? some of us just write like that without any AI)

I also think that even if you do find “solid evidence” of AI use in a fic, like uploading huge amounts of text very quickly, you shouldn’t start a witch hunt to drive that person off the internet

Why? Because maybe you can inspire a new writer to turn off the AI and write for themselves if you would just talk to them, keep the conversation open, and encourage them to write what’s in their heads without fear of getting the words and grammar and structure all wrong

And if you’re wrong about the AI use? Because trust me, no one is 100% correct at identifying AI? Then we’ve wrongfully accused and silenced another writer who could be making our fandom spaces beautiful

We all have to start somewhere. Using AI isn’t an unforgivable sin. Just talk to people, rather than grabbing your pitchforks and torches

Hope this helps. I can clarify more if you want to start that conversation with me

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 MEDICINE POCKET - General Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis on Medicine Pocket as a character and other related things.

started going thru my askbox, saw there's an insane amount of medpoc prompts, and then realized I haven't thought that deeply about this feral dog so here we are!

I missed doing analysis like this oooo the feeling of neurons making connections as I go thru the character's entire page oooo. since I still don't have them, screenshots and examples will be taken directly from the fandom wikia as usual!

On the subject of intersex identities, Medicine Pocket's mother and their gender identity.

It's worth noting that as of the time writing this (with GL currently in 2.2 and CN having just released 2.5) the game still has only two characters who have been confirmed to live outside of the gender binary, both released during launch; The Fool, who uses male pronouns but states that he has no gender, and Medicine Pocket, who couldn't care less about pronouns and explicitly mentions being intersex in one of their voicelines.

The game is consistent with this, as Medicine Pocket is often referred to with "they/them" pronouns, and occasionally "he/him," such as a daily tidbit from November 18th 2024.

As far as I know, they've yet to refer to Medicine Pocket with female pronouns.

While Medicine Pocket seems to approach the subject of gender identity as an afterthought at best and a nuisance at worst, never stating which labels they identify with, it's important to note that they're still openly queer. Upon a first reading, I didn't think much of them, but now I realize that a big chunk of their character does focus on their queerness in ways that are just as unconventional as they are.

Their 01 Story allows us to learn about Medicine Pocket's background, namely their mother, as it focuses on her for the most part. This is also the second instance of Medicine Pocket's status as an intersex person being brought up.

While I'm not intersex myself, I'm a nonbinary queer person who is fully aware of the many, many convoluted and cruel ways society has enforced in order to "correct" and assimilate us into the norm, such as conversion therapy and intersex surgeries, all done with the pretense of "helping us adapt." Medicine Pocket seems to be an example of this.

One may interpret this as a misguided but well-meaning attempt from a concerned mother, but I interpret it as a heartless moment of dehumanization.

In this Story, there is a very clear parallel being drawn between the dogs at the kennel she owns and her own child, between money as her only source of happiness and the necessity to pay for her child's operation.

Her entire world and business revolves around the kennel, it's stated to be a family business with good reputation, and the dogs are described as a positive thing--"man's best friend," and friends who can keep you company--but her reaction to both is of indifference and, at worst, contempt.

The priority here isn't the thriving family business, nor the dogs she's selling to the University of Utah, nor what will come out of the experiments they will go through; the priority is the money.

And what is this money for? Her own child's operation, with the specific intent of helping them become "an ordinary person." Not for their health, not because they asked for this--because she wants them to be normal, thus highlighting the themes of assimilation within society.

As seen before, Medicine Pocket confirms they lack any reproductive organs. I don't know enough to speculate or research what sort of medical condition they have, but the fact that they say "I just don't have any reproductive organs" could imply they did not receive that operation in the end. After all, becoming "ordinary" would imply living within the binary of female or male genitals exclusively.

With the lack of information about their childhood, I personally like to headcanon that this is when the parallels between Medicine Pocket and dogs continues from their mother's perspective; maybe the cons outdo the pros, maybe the procedure was too expensive, maybe she didn't feel like nurturing this specific puppy anymore, regardless of the reasoning, Medicine Pocket's mother simply chose to give them away to someone else who had a use for them. Exactly like the previous batch of puppies.

As agile as usual, her child got into the white van without looking back. That van had taken away countless almost-weaned puppies from their mothers, and on this day, it was doing the same thing to her.

Another personal headcanon I have following that one is that Medicine Pocket was given away for experimentation purposes given their uniqueness--an intersex arcanist child. It certainly lines up with other darker themes within the game, such as the treatment orphaned arcanist children receive within SPDM, the ableism and bigoted mindsets towards arcanists that parallel real issues in real life, and the appropriation of arcanist culture into human society, etc etc.

Of course, in retrospect, there is also something bittersweet in the way that the only thing Medicine Pocket seems to have inherited from their mother is the aspect of money, as a big part of their character is based around finding ways to receive funding for their experiments. Money is the focus of their Insight voiceline, their First Encounter voiceline also involves finding new investors, and there is a distinct focus on how much Medicine Pocket's actions COST Laplace overall, even in the Main Story. Their Story 02 is literally named "The Wrecker of Laplace" and involves their expenses report. This is a very small detail and connection, but I found it quite interesting!

The last thing I want to bring up for this specific bullet point is how Medicine Pocket grew up to be exactly everything their mother did not care about.

The opposite of an ordinary person; they are considered an unconventional albeit irritating genius within Laplace, as seen in their Storyboard.

They are a noisy dog who went out and pioneered an abundance of inventions and research, such as the development of Picrasma Candy shown above, their study of arcanist bloodlines and an arcanist's arcanum that later helps Enigma during Chapter 7 "Vereinsamt," and more. They are a team leader and a renowned, published biological researcher, as seen in the LSCC trailer and another voiceline of theirs.

It is a testament to Medicine Pocket's determination, stubbornness and self-centered personality, the way they were able to thrive in life and in every aspect that their mother did not care about nor support. And this aspect relates heavily to their Beast Afflatus and animalistic themes!

On the subject of Medicine Pocket's self-experimentation, animals and Laplace

We already discussed the way Medicine Pocket has been compared to the kennel dogs sold for experimentation, but we only explored this from their mother's perspective. On a general level, we can understand that Medicine Pocket's animalistic and dog-like behaviour exists because they were raised alongside these very same dogs, and their affinity for Beagles is a direct reference to the "Beagle Club" radiation experiments--it's a very clear motif within their character, but I would still like to expand on it a little!

First of all, we need to talk about Laplace, its ethics and practices. So bear with me!

Over the course of the recent patches, we have seen certain members of Laplace being shown together for most promotional material; this is later on confirmed within 37's Anecdote as a "friend group" consisting of 37, Mesmer Jr, X, Medicine Pocket and Ezra. For this discussion, we are going to set aside 37, an outsider to Laplace, and Ezra, a human character.

Both X and Medicine Pocket both have animals commonly used for experimentation as their Udimos; X has a Laboratory mouse, and Medicine Pocket has a Beagle puppy. On the other hand, we have Mesmer Jr. whose Udimo is not an animal, but a representation of the Artificial Somnambulism Therapy machine. With this, we can trace a pattern within the arcanists of Laplace, which paints them as not only expendable resources, but as something a little more tragic considering their respective themes--X, who harbors a deep-seated hatred for authorities that abuse their power (as seen in his own Anecdote), Medicine Pocket, who is based on the "Beagle Club" radiation experiments, and Mesmer Jr., who carries internalized bigotry for her own kind and is treated as nothing but an extension of her family's legacy.

While I won't be discussing the broad history of animal rights and ethics in experiments from real life, there are lines to be connected between these specific themes and the dehumanization of these characters--which also extends to the rest of members of Laplace like Lucy and Ulrich, by virtue of being Awakened and not being able to comply within the expected "norm" of humans, nor arcanists (the main theme of "Vereinsamt"). As players, we understand Enigma's reaction to Lucy being demoted, and there is a nuanced conversation to be had about the consequences of Lucy's orders even if they led to a great outcome; it is both tragic and inspiring.

But we must also understand this: Lucy's actions are still objectively within the scope of the Foundation's own history and ethics as I've mentioned them before, she is merely being used as a scapegoat due to the visibility of these casualties, which causes the Foundation to lose face.

And how does this relate exactly to Medicine Pocket?

Because their work ethic of self-experimentation follows this very same pattern. In the trail "Experiment Record" from Chapter 6 "E Lucevan le Stelle" Stage 19, which details the process of making Picrasma Candy safe for consumption, the extra addendums indicate that the one consuming all this candy during the experiments is none other than Medicine Pocket.

Their self-experimentation is only considered an issue and a nuisance because they are loud, reckless and take up space and resources. Because this is a coworker who canonically runs on all fours when excited, bites furniture and chases after frisbees, exactly like a dog.

Out of the three characters discussed before, only two are able to subvert the expectations of their respective Udimos: X and Medicine Pocket. The former by putting on an innocent and obedient act while doing whatever he wants behind the scenes, and the latter by being so shamelessly disobedient and self-serving that it is near impossible to stop them.

After a quick and surface look into why beagles were used for the experiments, some articles mention their docile and compliant nature, the total opposite of Medicine Pocket's personality. The subversion is clear there. Rather than being someone else's guinea pig, Medicine Pocket happily uses their own body as their main playground to test their experiments and research; look at their third item, "Beagle 0-1 Fluid Analysis Apparatus," which quite literally turns their own blood as a weapon, aside from monitoring their vitals. They have voicelines urging Vertin to give them a full dose despite the potential dangers, or noting the effects of another self-inflicted experiment--both their "Sleeves and Hands" and "Clothing and Torso" voicelines respectively.

Rather than assimilating within "proper" lab etiquette and polite society, Medicine Pocket is shamelessly themself above all, doing the things they want to do whenever they want to. There are many ways to read their character; perhaps, because their mother took away their bodily agency, they can now reclaim power over their identity by being as chaotic as a feral puppy or by using their body for self-experimentation. Perhaps they have a special connection with dogs because of the way they were raised and thus actively chose to act like one, since they felt more like family than their own mother, etc etc.

This aspect of reclaiming power over their own body and identity, alongside the way others openly disapprove of them for various different reasons, can be seen within the Beast Afflatus--which focuses on the focus of the individual, one's survival and struggle against traditions or systems that aim to contain them, the power and freedom to choose and carve a way for oneself. It's the struggle of one person against the majority. All of these things can be seen in Medicine Pocket!

Round of extra headcanons I didn't have the energy to fit anywhere else

I like to think Medicine Pocket's hair is white (simply because their eyebrows also seem to be white in art) so the brown parts are dyed specifically to look more like a beagle.

Alongside being intersex and nonbinary, they also couldn't care less about conventional romantic relationships--while uninterested in sexual relationships overall, I can see them having meaningless one-night stands for research specifically. They're shameless and very open about it. The only type of serious commitment I can see them having are QRPs, but their partners get bullied even harder by them so no one is sure if this is a good thing or not.

Medicine Pocket has one voiceline which states that they do even more fucked up experiments in the suitcase; I like to think they're the equivalent of the ThoughtEmporium over on Youtube, doing things like getting rid of their own lactose intolerance, creating meat grapes and such.

They just happen to be allergic to most things that dogs are allergic to. In the same vein, they bark but it sounds nowhere close like a proper dog's bark and everyone thinks its sort of cringe, but saying this out loud within their vicinity will only earn you One Huge Fucking Chomp from them.

Unlike Pavia, who does not quite keep track of the names of the wolfpack, Medicine Pocket can tell apart every single dog they meet, no matter how identical or how long it's been since they last saw them. They have a lot of knowledge on how to care for animals from their childhood, and often bring back all sorts of dogs; from rescues to literally stealing someone else's dog just be cause they thought its owner was being a shithead. It's usually a problem, because they often just sneak them into their office without telling anyone and suddenly it's Barbie's Great Puppy Chase Adventure in Laplace.

I also like to think that the dogs they're not allowed to truly keep are given away to people Medicine Pocket personally checks and makes sure will be a good fit for the dog.

[thatdiabolicalfeminist]

He's not a "sociopath" who "doesn't understand [the] harm" he's a capitalist who is focused only on attaining what benefits his own class. It has nothing to do with mental illness or lack of understanding.

When the only problems you identify with the ruling class are this personal and individual, you'll miss why the ruling class acts as it does and you also won't be able to effectively address the problem.

He is not a mentally ill person who needs to be taught to understand differently.

He is your enemy. The harder things are for us, the better they are for him, and he understands that and is prioritizing his own interests in this situation, not out of mental illness or because he is unaware he's hurting people, but out of pure self-interest.

If he were "nice" and said sympathetic things it wouldn't change that he has the power to enforce his interests at the expense of your own. And since he has that power, he will use it.

So will every member of his class who wants to stay in that class. Even the ones who bother to sound like they care.

There are more of us than there are of them, so we have a chance to take away that power. But that chance doesn't matter unless enough people actually organize to take it. Which no one will do if they believe the problem lies in how individuals at the top comport themselves, rather than in the system of hierarchy itself.

The system of hierarchy is capitalism. That's the problem, not the individual mean words said by specific people at the top. The problem isn't individual or personal, and the solutions can't be either.

I encourage you to seek out actual communist criticisms of capitalism. Liberal criticisms are frankly useless because they take as a given that we should preserve capitalism and just try to make the ruling class rule us more nicely.

It won't work, because the root of their power is the system of capitalism which liberalism seeks to protect at all costs. Capitalists know that liberals will protect their power and never threaten it, so there's no reason to listen when liberals ask them to be more niceys.

Threatening that power (which liberals generally refuse to do, bc liberalism requires capitalism) will sometimes get them to compromise a little, but taking it away entirely and leaving that power with the masses is a much more effective solution.

Jamie Dimon does not understand how political policies harm individuals. He is a sociopath.

A sociopath in charge of the most influential bank. That is capitalism.

[sunnysidesevenup]

Okay since apparently more people than me have seen those “fellow honest doesn’t know basic math” takes/jokes whatever lol, I’m gonna ramble about how I write Tilly and Fellow because they’re SO FREAKING SMART and they have very different skill sets born out of their respective lives. Obviously this is all made up headcanons for Fellow since we know basically nothing about him lmao so. do with my headcanons what you will ig.

First off I believe Fellow probably had some basic schooling and either got kicked out of the school itself, or whatever guardians he had stopped sending him because it “wasn’t worth it” or smth. I don’t think his resentment would be born out of just not going y’know? So I think he definitely learned basic math and writing/reading/science, etc from a more formal education, but all his actual practical knowledge is entirely him seeking it out on his own. He definitely went to a library and used those resources to learn anything that could help him.

Fellow does all the budgeting in the household, managing rent, electricity, food bills, etc. his sewing skills help cut down on clothing cost a little, and he has various skills from taking odd jobs. He definitely started out only doing honest work but then rapidly realized that no one was paying him very much, and none of it could cover the cost of anything, and he just probably slowly slid into less than legal means to make money. He’s VERY good at weighing risk vs reward, can talk his way out of things, and in general is just really, really clever.

Tilly on the other hand has zero formal schooling, and all his knowledge is entirely from listening to other people talk. He doesn’t ask anyone to teach him anything because that will put him in a vulnerable position, so he pretends he knows things until he figures it out. He also has no need for any type of budgeting considering he doesn’t stay anywhere and mostly just convinces people to give him things, so his math skills are much weaker and he’s happy to have Fellow do any of that. His reading is also not great, considering it’s hard to learn to read from just watching other people and he doesn’t seek any resources out. He’s also dyslexic, so the few times he was trying to learn, what people were saying was NOT matching up with what he was seeing, so he gave up. Fellow tries to teach him some stuff and Tilly straight up believes he’s messing around because what do you MEAN the letters are not supposed to float around and flip??? They eventually figure out what’s going on though.

However, his ability to read people and his memory for what people tell him is incredible. He listens VERY closely to what people are saying and then incorporates it into whatever lies he’s telling that week, which is how he’s able to convince certain high society people that he’s actually one of them sometimes. People often complain to him about their work life, so if the company is big enough, he’ll steal whatever he needs to get into the building and wait long enough for them to believe they just lost it. And then he’ll just walk in, identify people from description and context clues, and just greet them like he works there. I mean, the company is pretty big, so if this guy knows their name and work drama then surely he works there, right? (He’s stolen so many things this way lmao).

Tilly can learn the history of places, local stories, the best and worst areas of the city, who to avoid and who is helpful, maps and directions for wherever he is, just from talking to people, and he remembers it all even months later. He’s good at blending in and imitating people’s attitudes and knowledge.

They are both incredibly skilled at using people’s own egos and expectations against them. Fellow tends to use flattery and Tilly uses distraction, so teamed up together it’s hard not to end up doing what they want. They’re good at surviving separately, but things are much easier together. Tilly is often surprised by how quick Fellow can make calculations in his head, and Fellow is often surprised when Tilly can recite things he learned years ago from overheard conversations like it happened yesterday.

Both of them are still terrible at cooking, though, so congrats to Gidel for being the only person in the household who can make any thing edible.

[peachyprophets-blog]

DROWNED LOVE, LET ME SEE YOU AGAIN…

Various! Yandere/Obsessed! EPIC x Reader

CW: Yandere themes, hints of death, depression and hopelessness

Description: After your time with Circe, you are brought back to Olympus and guarded more than before. You are torn apart by the emptiness you feel inside, despite the affection of the gods. All you want is to be with Odysseus and Penelope. Wait, Odysseus and Penelope…? You shouldn't know these names…that's what the gods want.

A/N: Heyyy!! Finally, a new part, hehhe ;) I'm working on the final part now and be PREPARED FOR THE PLOT RAWWWW

Part 5: The Silent Despair and The Song of Thunder

PREV / PART 6

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The wind blows gently through your hair, the night you spent with the messenger of the gods Hermes and the sorceress Circe was indescribable. However, after Artemis brought you back to Olympus, you started to feel cold, not from the temperature of the weather but in your soul. You feel empty; they never took it out on you, they honored you too much to take out their frustration and despair on you. When you sat in the garden one day and looked at the bright flowers while the sun wrapped you protectively in its light, something was different. Names came to mind that you had long forgotten, the names of those who once made your world shine...

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Reader POV:

Coldness. That's what I feel. Emptiness is what I sense. Loneliness and despair are what keep me trapped. I can't do this anymore. Everything feels so pointless. Why do I even exist? These questions have been wandering around my head for days, weeks, months, or maybe even years. I haven't had a sense of time for a long time. Most of the time, I'm forced to be with the gods. They hardly let me out of their sight, and that doesn't make my situation any better. When I sleep, one of the Olympian gods watches over me, and when I wake up, I'm woken up by one. When I eat, bathe, go for a walk, or do something else, I'm constantly being watched. The nymphs start to look at me with pity, but when I'm not there, they talk about it. I can't and don't want to anymore. I just want to close my eyes and stop existing, I just want to lie in the arms of Odysseus and Penelope, my loved ones who mean so much to me. What was that? Odysseus and Penelope? What kind of names are those? They sound so familiar, so much that my heart hurts. A deep homesickness overcomes my body, the dam breaks, and the dam that was holding my tears back breaks. Hot tears start to roll down my cheeks and pour out onto the ground beneath me onto the flowers. My field of vision becomes unrecognizable, and I look at a female silhouette. "Penelope?" I whispered softly, slowly walking towards the figure, a quiet sob escaping my lips. "Odysseus, the gods say he is dead," I burst out, but when I wanted to touch the person my heart missed so much, I couldn't reach for anything, only a warm light enveloped my hand. As I stepped closer into the light, I collapsed, the feelings overwhelmed me, and my crying became louder. The weight of never seeing the one I loved again weighs heavily on my shoulders. Please have mercy on me and let me go. "Not yet, you are not ready to leave this place," a voice I could not identify whispered in my ear. Shortly afterwards, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep. But before that, I could see poppies starting to grow in the grass next to me...

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Odysseus POV

The clouds gathered, thunder rolled loudly in the sky and lightning struck uncontrollably into the open sea. Fear was anchored in all of our bones, Eurylochus was the trigger for this situation. After we had killed the sirens who had previously told us how to get home safely, we went through the cave of Scylla as we had been told. I had to sacrifice six of my men so that we could make it out alive. But Eurylochus was not satisfied with that, after a fight we arrived on an island where he tied me to a statue of the sun god. After he killed one of his cows, we had to flee from this island. Now we are caught in the storm that means our downfall, and I am looking directly into the eyes of the king of all gods... Zeus. Zeus' eyes glowed with anger as he looked at me, that look could kill me several times and I don't know why. A little later he gave me a choice, "you or your crew." I was shaking slightly, but I knew what to do. "I have to see her," I said when Eurylochus pointed out that he and the others would die, but at that moment I had to make the decision. I have to find (Y/N), I have to go back to Ithaca, I have to go back to Penelope and Telemachus. I have to (Y/N)... wait... (Y/N)..? That name sounded like an echo in my head. I shook off that thought, I have to go to my wife Penelope and our son Telemachus.

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Zeus grinned contentedly before lightning struck the ship of Odysseus and his crew, the lifeless bodies slowly sank to the bottom of the sea and the waves carried Odysseus, who was drifting unconscious in the sea, away from the event to a distant island. Zeus was satisfied. The king of Ithaca had long been a thorn in his and the other gods' side. Now (Y/N) would no longer cling to him, no longer to the memory of this man. What Zeus did not know, however, was what fate had in store for you. A life far away from what they knew up there on the mountain....

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-Peachyprophet

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